Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: The team is snowbound during Christmas and must make the best of it. Just a little holiday fic. No pairings.


"Worst Christmas ever," Tony grumbled.

"You are only saying that because I am winning," Ziva gloated as she gathered her "spoils."

"Winning what?" he asked. "We're playing for M&Ms!"

"At least we're indoors," Tim said optimistically as he began to reshuffle the cards. "And we're warm. We could have gotten trapped in the car with nothing to do but talk."

The team had pulled the short straw that year and got stuck with Christmas Eve duty. Christmas Eve was usually dull around NCIS; most of the time the people on duty were allowed to head home early (though they were asked to be on call, just in case). This year, though, the fates had conspired, sending the team to West Virginia to investigate the death of a Navy Lt.

Despite warnings of impending snowstorms, they'd forged ahead with the investigation. The man had been found alone in his cabin, a couple of miles from the roads. He wouldn't have even been found for days if there hadn't been a stove fire. Someone caught sight of the smoke and ran to help. Unfortunately, the fire had made finding evidence very tricky.

Ducky and Jimmy had left an hour before the team and managed to just escape the snow storm, leaving their colleagues snowbound for at least the night. They'd had no other choice but to check in to the nearest inn and settle in for Christmas.

"Do you realize," Tony said, "that right now I could be watching _A Christmas Story_, _It's a Wonderful Life_, and _A Mr. Magoo Christmas Carol_ while enjoying the double chocolate cookies my gorgeous new neighbor gave out this year."

"Are you sure you would not want to enjoy _her_ rather than the cookies?"

A wolfish grin spread over his face. "I'd rather be enjoying them both, Ziva."

Tim laid down his hand. "Come on, guys, it's not that bad. At least we've got games to play." They were the only ones in the place, save for the owners. A quick survey of the entertainment room found a deck of playing cards along with Sorry, Clue, Monopoly, and Risk. "Sure, it's not World of Warcraft," he conceded, "but it's fun, right?"

Tony grunted in response. Ziva simply laid down her straight with a grin and pulled the pot toward her.

While his team entertained themselves with a low-stakes poker tournament, Gibbs had planted himself in front of the window with a glass of whiskey. Thankfully, the inn wasn't only well stocked with games, but also with alcohol.

He took a drink as he watched the snow blow around outside. The sky almost looked white rather than pitch black.

Unlike the members of his team, Gibbs couldn't exactly claim that any of his Christmas plans had been disrupted. Aside from not being in his basement and actually being able to see the snow, this was pretty much what he'd had in mind for the night.

With another sip, he finished off the drink and returned for another.

"I'll see your two reds," said Tim, "and raise you three greens. Ziva? You in?"

"Of course! Two reds, three greens…and three browns," she added with a devilish grin.

"She's bluffing, Probie."

"And how can you tell, Tony?"

"I know these things. I can read women like a book." He added his own browns to the pot, as did Tim. "Care to raise the stakes a bit more, Ms. David?"

"You mean add a few yellows into the mix?"

"No, I mean really heat things up. What do you say we stop betting candy and start betting our clothes?"

"Why would you want my clothing, Tony?" Ziva asked. "I do not think any of it would fit you."

"He means Strip Poker," Tim explained. "Each time a person loses a hand, they have to remove a piece of clothing."

Ziva gave him a narrow-eyed look and skillfully kicked him beneath the table. "I will stick to candy, thank you. And I call. Now show your hands."

They did. Tim had three of a kind, Tony had a two pair, and Ziva had a full house. "I know you're cheating," Tony groaned as she grabbed the pot.

"Cheating? On Christmas Eve? That would not be right of me."

"You're Jewish, so I doubt it being Christmas Eve would have much bearing on your ethics for the day."

While Tony and Ziva bickered, Tim caught sight of Gibbs re-entering, this time with an entire bottle of whiskey and four glasses. He made a beeline for their table and sat in the remaining chair. No sooner had Ziva cleared her winnings from the center than Gibbs did place the bottle there. He then passed a glass to them each and poured a hefty amount into each. "Man said to take as much as we want since it's Christmas."

They precariously lifted the glasses, looking at them hesitantly. None of them were big whiskey drinkers, especially not straight. But it was the holiday season after all. "To the holidays," Ziva said, lifting her glass in a toast.

Tim followed suit. "To warm shelter, good friends—"

"Cheating friends," Tony corrected, for which he earned a smack to the head.

"To good whiskey," Gibbs added, also lifting his glass.

"I'll drink to that," said Tony.

They toasted and knocked back their whiskeys in one swallow. This, of course, resulted in much coughing and hacking from them all (minus Gibbs who watched in amusement), but there was a warm feeling which now hung over them. So what if they'd been trapped in a West Virginia inn on Christmas Eve? They had shelter, food, games, and, of course, each other.

From the small radio in the corner came a soft tune, dancing through the speakers and wafting about them:

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

_Let your heard be light_

_From now on our troubles_

_Will be out of sight_

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

_Make the Yuletide gay_

_From now on our troubles _

_Will be miles away_

_Here we are as in olden days_

_Happy golden days of yore_

_Faithful friends who are dear to us_

_Gather near to us once more_

_Through them years we all will be together_

_If the fates allow_

_Hang a shining star upon the_

_Highest bough_

_And have yourself _

_A merry little Christmas now._

**AN:** Happy Holidays, everyone!


End file.
